Anatomy Lessons
by MakeACircuitWithMe
Summary: When you place a wager, you better be sure of who you're betting against - odds are you may not come out on top. Smokescreen and First Aid are at odds, Ratchet steps in to set them straight. AU/Movieverse Ratchet/Hide, First Aid/Trailbreaker, Smokescreen


"…and I'm telling you, you're wrong." The mech spoke with assurance as he slid the datapad into the slot on the shelf before him.

"What makes you so sure I'm wrong? You haven't even completed basic medic training yet. You're barely a trainee, let alone a specialist," vocalizers smooth and confident in their reply.

"Pfft. Like you're one to talk. You're just a meta-shrinker trying to blow that obnoxious exhaust of yours up my tailpipe." The lights of the archive reflected on a deep azure visor, as the bot moved about the space replacing datapads.

"I've still been around a lot longer than you, mechling." Agitation tainted the mech's words. He rolled his optics and folded his arms across crimson and slate colored chest plating for emphasis.

"That still doesn't make you right." The red and white bot replied, pressing his point.

The argument was put on hold as the archive door slid open, catching their attention. The older mech's optics lit up when a familiar green form stepped into the room.

"Ratchet! Just the mech we need!" He stepped toward the CMO, arms extended in a warm, welcoming gesture while a cocky grin spread across his faceplates. Behind him, the other bot, merely nodded in the direction of his mentor.

"Oh, cheese and crackers! Now what, Smokescreen? I'm really not in the mood for anymore youngling games this cycle. I've been dealing with the twins for the last three breems. And not the _good _ones either. It was those slagging Skidflap or Mudskid or Skidmark or whatever the frag they're called ones. Primus! I woulda given almost anything to have Sunstreaker and Sideswipe tormenting me instead of those two. Anything's better than those little green and orange backfires!" The medic's dental plates grinding as he looked into the other mech's optics. An angry hiss escaped his vents.

"Yeeeeaaaah. Ok. Well. First Aid and I have been discussing the finer points of bot anatomy…"

"Do I even _want_ to know how you got on to the topic, Smokescreen? Nevermind. Nevermind. I don't want to know. What's your slagging question already?" Ratchet growled, raising a hand to massage his helm just above the optic ridge.

"Like I said, we were discussing anatomy, and we've reached a point of disagreement, and we're having a friendly discussion on the subject…" Smokescreen continued.

"More like you won't admit I'm right…" The medibot trainee interjected, causing the irritated diversionist's wings to buzz high above his helm.

"I won't admit you're _right_ when I know you're _wrong._" The older mech countered. Ratchet's engine growling in frustration at the exchange.

"Can it! Both of you! Before you're BOTH wrong. _NO. MATTER. WHAT._ Now, somebody fast forward thru all this scrap and get to the fragging question already!"

"Well." Smokescreen offered, as he wrapped his arm around the CMO's shoulder – instantly earning an icy scowl from the green mech. "I say that the sensor array located under doorwing joints is the most sensitive spot on a mech's frame…"

"And I say it's the ventral node on their spark chamber." First Aid stated, seizing the opportunity to offer his opinion on the matter. His words earned him a fiery glare from the other mech.

"So which is it, Ratch?" Smokescreen asked - patting the medic's shoulder with the arm he still had wrapped around him. Ratchet reached up, took hold of the hand, and slipped it off his shoulder. He continued to hold it as he spun around to stand chest plate to chest plate with the mech and looked him dead in the optic.

"Well. Let's see here. How's your ventral node feeling, _Smokey_?"

The crimson and slate bot looked at the medic directly before him. The grin on his face tempered to a sunny smile. With his chincap held high, he closed his optics and answered the surly medic.

"Same as always, Ratch. No discernable difference."

"And the sensor array under your wing joint?" Ratchet's tone remained cold and clinical, throughout.

"Same." Smokescreen answered maintaining his cool attitude as well. Ratchet studied his faceplates for a moment before he turned to his trainee.

"Hmmm. I see. Make note of that First Aid."

Keeping his optics trained on Smokescreen's face, the CMO reached up behind the smaller bot and gripped the edge of a doorwing; running his fingers along its edge. A delightful keening sound rose from its owner, as Ratchet's fingers traced the wing's contours back toward the pivotal joint. Ratchet pressed closer, wrapped his free arm around Smokescreen's waist, and drew the mech even further in. As the medic's skilled hand found the fine gears and cabling beneath the hinge, a gentle moan escaped Smokescreen; his optics dimming slightly.

"So, I take it that feels good?" Ratchet's question aimed point blank.

"Mmmmhmmm…" Smokescreen replied with hazy optics and a languid nod.

"Note that too, Aid."

Sliding his hand down from the smaller mech's waist, Ratchet pulled Smokescreen's hips tight against his own. His other hand dipped beneath the joint gears to fondle the sensitive array hidden below. Smokescreen's wings stiffened and he rolled his helm back. Sounds of lust and desire scorched his vocalizer while his processor began to drown in the flood of pleasure raging across it.

"_Ratch…"_ It was barely a mumble, but Smokescreen's almost pleading tone garnered a snicker from First Aid just the same. His desperate moans and whimpers increased when Ratchet released the over-stimulated sensors and resumed running his fingers along the diversionist's doorwing, rolling its edge between practiced fingertips while they slid up and down the appendage. Longing filled the smaller mech's heavy optics as they struggled to look up at the CMO.

Ratchet slid his hand down Smokescreen's wing one last time, taking his time to tease the joint lightly, before smoothing his hand down the younger mech's back. The medic's large hand caressed the firm skidplating before it rolled across crimson hips, and up over a dark metallic belly. It continued to move up over the dark armor, sliding beneath the bumper gracing the lower edge of Smokescreen's chest armor.

A series of heady moans were Ratchet's reward as he slipped a knee between Smokescreen's thighs, spreading them while he released the first of the latches securing the other mech's chest armor. Smokescreen's cries continued on panting intakes as another latch is released; knee servos buckling under him. With shaking hands, the diversionist pulled Ratchet's hips tighter against his own. He leaned in, lips parted and quivering, hoping for more from the medic.

One by one, Ratchet popped the latches securing Smokescreen's armor; crimson hips rolling hungrily against a steady green thigh. When the last clasp was released, the smaller mech rolled his optics and uttered a steady stream of unintelligible Cybertronian curses.

"Still taking notes back there, Aid?"

"Yes, Sir." The young medibot fought to maintain control of his vocalizer; struggling with the hints of static creeping around the edges.

"Good. Now pay close attention. This is important." The CMO wasted no time in deftly sliding the chest plating to the side, exposing the Smokescreen's spark chamber and ventral node. "Now, while the sensor array of a winged bot may be sensitive, it is nowhere near as sensitive as the ventral node. Observe."

First Aid's optics widened beneath his visor as Ratchet leaned in and wrapped his mouth around the nodule on Smokescreen's spark chamber. The diversionist's optics snapped open as a loud, sharp cry resonated from him, echoing throughout the room. His intakes gasped and secondary cooling systems struggled desperately to maintain normal operating perimeters.

The CMO's glossa swirled around the node, savoring each groove and ridge; choked growls rising from Smokescreen's engine with each pass. Ratchet wrapped his hand around the base of Smokescreen's interface cupping it; his fingers traced the ridges and moved against it in a circular motion, mimicking the motions of his glossa. Slate wings kept time with the medic's ministrations, rising sharply to stand erect, then fluttering softly back down.

Gunmetal fingers raked across citrus colored aft plating to a chorus of snarled moans and hisses and the unmistakable screech of metal grinding on metal, as Smokescreen bore down on Ratchet's thigh. The whine and pop of over-stressed cooling systems filled the space in and around the mech's.

Ratchet responded by strengthening his grasp on the crimson hips, compressing them as they bucked wildly against his own. He offered the length of the ventral node one last stroke before releasing his hand and engulfed it completely with his mouth. The medic's slick glossa winding around the tip as his freed hand dove beneath the wing joint on Smokescreen's back, fondling and pinching the sensor bundles. The pulses raced across Smokescreen's sensor grid and flooded his processor with unadulterated pleasure. The roar of his engine was unceasing and undeniable. Sharp cries of lust and longing fell one after another from the smaller mech's lips.

It took only a moment more for the heat to build to an intolerable level and spread across systems already desperate and begging for release. The wave of energy crashed through his frame, and shook him to his very core, propelling Smokescreen forward into a screaming overload. He tossed his helm back, as a long, loud howl raged forth from his vocalizer.

Strong, green arms held him firm and waited for the flow to recede. Trained audios listened for the tell-tale clicks that signaled its completion before gently lowering the unconscious mech to the ground. Ratchet blinked his optics twice, stretched again to his full height, and turned to face his trainee.

"Well. Tell me what you learned." Ratchet asked, his intakes panting.

First Aid's optics stared at the CMO from behind his visor. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, before he finally replied.

"That Ironhide is one lucky son of a glitch."

"Frag yeah! And don't ever forget it…"

Ratchet turned and staggered toward the door, calling over his shoulder as he did.

"Medic. See to your patient. Get him cleaned up and get him the slag outta my library. Now."

First Aid stood frozen in place. He watched the CMO exit the room, and stared at the closed portal for nearly a breem. Once his processor had finally caught back up, he turned to look at Smokescreen, nearly incapacitated and lying on the floor before him. He shook his helm while taking full inventory of the situation.

"I need to get him straightened out. Then I need to go find 'Breaker … STAT!"

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A/N

I don't own Transformers, HasTak does. I don't make any money off them. I just play with them and abuse them as I see fit.

I dedicate this little diddy to my friends, Roxi and Cubi. I hope you enjoy it! Mwaahh!


End file.
